Rooftops
by sunday nights
Summary: Fluffy oneshot. "Obviously you don't know Chuck! He has a thing for rooftops." Chuck/Blair, as always.


**Author's Note: **Ew. I just wrote a fluff. I don't do fluff. This happens to be a fluffy little oneshot. Oh well, enjoy (:  
PS. Oh, yeah Najet just happens to kick ass.

_"Obviously you don't know Chuck! He has a thing for rooftops."  
_  
-Blair Waldorf  
2.14 In the Realm of the Basses

**I. The Conception**

Even years after his mother's death, Bart still tells him the story of how he was conceived. Chuck may be a mature young man now, but he, in no way, shape, or form, wants to hear about the sex his parents had to lead to him. Bart laughs at his gagging, and then continues to fill him in, with gory detail, no less.

"Dad, I've heard this story about two hundred times," Chuck complains. That's about one time for every week Bart's been home Chuck's whole life.

"I know, but who else can say they were conceived on a rooftop?" Bart smirks in an unsettling way.

Chuck always rolls his eyes. Sex on top of a building? Not his kind of sex. The way Chuck did it would surely lead to at least two different girls plummeting to their deaths every night.

**II. The Play Date**

"It's not a play date, Maria," Chuck corrects, "We're _hanging out_."

A five-year-old Chuck waves his hand away at Maria's mistake.

"Sorry, Chuck," Maria throws her head back and laughs.

Nate arrives.

"What do you want to do?" Impatient Nate says, scrambling on all of Chuck's furniture.

"Well, you can start by removing your greasy little paws from my antique bed, thank you very much," Chuck snaps back. Why did he invite this grimy, grubby little boy over again? Oh yeah.

"_Let's play," little Chuck says, twirling his scarf._

"_No, you're weird," the pretty brunette says, scrunching her nose in distaste._

"_Am not. Why would you say that?" Chuck looks taken aback._

"_Because…you don't have any friends," she informs him, sticking her tongue out._

"_Mature," he scowls and walks away, head drooping, hands stuffed in pockets, kicking dirt out of his path._

Oh right, he needs a friend.

"Let's go on the roof," Chuck suggests.

"The roof…isn't that dangerous? Mommy says I could fall, crack my head, and then I'll never be able to get married if I don't keep up my 'devilishly handsome' looks," Nate says, using air quotes to imply the words 'devilishly handsome' were not his own.

"If you don't want to come, I'll just go myself," Chuck says in a snobby tone.

"Then what would be the point of this play date?"

"It's not a _play date_!"

**III. The First Date**

Chuck's knees weaken a little at the sight of her. It has taken years to get to their position, but Chuck and Blair are officially Chuck and Blair. As a unit. As one. As a couple. To celebrate their official-ness, they have planned a dinner. A date, of sorts.

"Blair, you look…" he doesn't want to overdo it.

"Thanks you look… as well," Blair teases.

Damn those butterflies. Maybe he could walk over to her if his legs weren't completely useless and his heartbeat slowed down from the speed of light.

"So, what do we have planned?"

"Oh, the usual," Chuck replies, winking.

Chuck leads her up the stairs.

"We aren't going out?" Blair asks, perplexed.

"This is going to be better," Chuck reassures her.

"Where the hell is this? Are we still even in your building?" Blair looks around.

He opens the thick, titanium door. Blair gasps.

"Our first date is on a rooftop?"

**IV. The Proposal**

Of course there is only one place ideal for _the proposal_. It's the place that the first I Love You's were exchanged. It's the place where countless break-ups and make-ups occurred. It's the perfect place.

Chuck nervously adjusts his tie, checking his reflection in the mirror. He fingers the purple crushed velvet buried deep in his pocket.

Emerging at the opening of the rooftop, he surveys the setting. It's _perfect. _Roses, red of course. Candles, with fire dancing rhythmically on the wax. Should he practice? He wonders. Would that be tacky? Taking a chance on being labeled as a sap, he rehearses the get down on one knee thing, with a whole planned speech. As he stands back up, the lamp chord trips him. Feet flying, arms flailing, Chuck accidentally tosses the velvet box off the edge of the roof. Panic floods his body, and he rushes down the stairs into the lobby crashing into someone.

"Blair," Chuck breathes heavily. She grins quirkily, a smug smirk playing on the edges of her mouth.

"Whoa, you've been having whores over again?" Blair kids, amusement twinkling in her eyes.

"Uh…Ah…Yeah, sure," Chuck pretends to listen as he looks over her head towards the entrance. Nothing resembling a purple velvet box seems to be lying on the sidewalk.

His heart sinks. Blair catches his eyes searching behind her shoulder.

"Looking for something?" Blair says, holding out the box.

**V. The Second Conception**

Their first anniversary dinner happens to take place on the rooftop. A little too much champagne plus a broken condom adds up to one thing. As Blair explains that she's pregnant, he feels a little sick to the stomach. Not at the thought of being a father, although that nauseates him a little as well, but at the memory of his deceased father telling him where he was conceived.

Years later, Chuck sits in little Tristan Charles Waldorf-Bass's room, reading him a story.

"This is boring. You've read this to me so many times," Tristan complains.

"Want to hear a better story?" Chuck inquires, his eyebrows raising in anticipation to his answer.

"Yes, but all your real stories suck," Tristan sticks out his tongue. Chuck laughs. He looks like a little Blair in male form.

"Want to know how you were conceived?"

**fin.**


End file.
